The Prayer of the Night Shepherd

Passing the foot of the main stairs, Jane could hear the bagpipe wheeze of Amber vacuuming up there — staying well out of it. Natalie was bustling in from the lobby, long legs in tight black jeans, red leather coat over her arm.

‘That the TV guy’s car, Jane? The old Lexus?’

‘Probably.’ Jane glanced over her shoulder. ‘Ben’s struggling. I don’t think he’s even got round to telling the guy there’s not going to be a Holmes conference.’

‘Oh.’

‘Essentially, they’re talking at cross purposes.’ Jane put down her tray on the second step; the upstairs vacuuming droned on, suggesting it was OK to talk. She brought her voice down. ‘Ben’s flogging his Hound line and this Largo’s trying to convey that he’s only interested in Ben’s struggle to revive Stanner.’

When she’d first gone in, with the fruit juice, Ben had been saying how well they were doing. He said he’d altered some bookings to keep the hotel empty so he’d have time to show Largo around. The guy would have had to be blind to fall for that. Where was all the staff, for instance?

‘The hotel trade looks like a pushover till you’re in it,’ Natalie said soberly. ‘I’ll be surprised if they can afford to heat this place through the winter.’

‘It’s that bad?’

Natalie waggled her fingers, suggesting borderline wonky. ‘When you’re full up in summer it feels like the escalator’s never going to stop. In winter, the outgoings mount up. They’ve got three women in Kington on standby for that conference who won’t be happy to stand by in the future.’

Ben ought to listen more to Nat; she had serious qualifications in catering and hotel management. Clancy said her mother had been running a big hotel at Looe, in Cornwall, before suddenly resigning (after a relationship with a man crashed). Then there’d been another admin job, at a motel near Slough, but Clancy had hated the school there and they’d moved on again. When the summer holidays came round, Nat had bought this old camper van and they’d just set off, looking for somewhere that felt right. Being gypsies, Clancy said.

Nat shifted her leather coat from one arm to the other. ‘So this guy’s not interested in The Hound at all?’

‘Only as one of Ben’s wild schemes to attract trade, in this Punching the Clock series. And that would depend on having famous faces — actors, people like that — come to stay. Like out of pity; that’s how it’ll look, won’t it?’

‘Humiliation’s big,’ Nat said. ‘We love to see people going face-down on the concrete. Especially arrogant bastards from glamour jobs.’

Jane nodded morosely, seeing it all now, like she was viewing the rushes — meaningful cutaway shots of damp patches and peeling flock wallpaper; Stanner Hall looking half-derelict under wintry skies; Ben striding around like some manic Basil Fawlty figure. She’d neither seen nor heard anything of Antony Largo until this weekend and, call her psychic, but she guessed that shafting his old mate wouldn’t leave him feeling over-gutted.

The vacuum cleaner cut out. Jane glanced up the stairs, which had a new red carpet — an important buy, according to Ben: make the punters feel special going up to their rooms.

‘She shouldn’t be doing that. I should be doing it.’

Nat eyed the tray. ‘She got you to serve breakfast instead, because she wants to stay in the background. Bloody shame, Jane. A class chef.’

And you’re an experienced hotel manager, Jane thought. Yet here you both are. But she didn’t say anything about that because Ben and Antony Largo had emerged from the dining room, Largo saying, ‘… Oh, right down the shitter, ma friend, no question there. I’m no’ saying you didn’t get out at the right time, I just think there might’ve been better ways of—’

He stopped. He’d seen Natalie, and he was looking at her the way male guests tended to. She was standing in a diagonal funnel of sun from the long window on the first landing. She looked typically gorgeous and typically unaware of it.

‘This is Natalie Craven.’ Ben took a step that put him between Nat and Antony. ‘Natalie’s my… house manager.’

Nat raised an eyebrow. Antony put his head on one side. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re no’ an actress by any chance?’ When Nat started to shake her head and he could see she wasn’t smiling, he went on hurriedly, with a thickening of the accent, ‘Wisnae meant to be an insult, Natalie, I just thought Ben might’ve called in some old… favour.’

‘She doesn’t owe me any favours,’ Ben said tightly.

‘Hey!’ Antony put up his hands. ‘No offence, pal.’

‘None taken.’ Ben was looking a little weary now. ‘Nat, if you see Amber anywhere, can you tell her I’m taking Antony to the church to, ah, meet the Vaughans.’

‘Or perhaps you’d like to join us,’ Antony said softly to Nat. ‘Be good to get another perspective. I, er, gather the Vaughans don’t have a lot to say these days.’

Nat smiled at him. ‘I’ve been there before. Also, there are people I need to phone. Bookings to make.’ She looked at Ben. ‘Like all the ones you put off this weekend?’ She threw her coat over the reception desk. ‘Why don’t you take Jane? Jane’s got a perspective on most things.’

Ben shrugged. Jane glanced at Natalie, thinking she ought to be upstairs with Amber, cleaning and redecorating. But maybe Nat wanted to find out how this situation worked out, come back with a report.

Cool.

‘Time for your break, surely,’ Nat said, confirming it. ‘And you’ve never met the Vaughans, have you, Jane?’

Kington Parish Church was alone on the edge of the town. From the road it looked like a country church, walled and raised up against the cold sky. Ben didn’t even glance at it, just drove straight past the entrance in his old blue MGB, with the top down. Antony Largo was beside him, Jane fleeced and huddled into the little seat behind them, her hair blown across her face.

‘That was a church, wasn’t it?’ Largo said. ‘The chunky grey thing with the wee spire we just passed?’

‘I’ve changed my mind.’ On the edge of the town centre, Ben had turned right, heading back into the country, raising his voice above the engine’s dirty growl. ‘I’m going to take the story in sequence.’

‘Can we no’ have the damn top up?’

‘It’s jammed, if you must know.’

‘Great.’

‘Do you good, a bit of air.’

‘I know what’d do me good, pal, but we left her behind.’ Largo leaned his head back. ‘That’s no offence to you, Jane, but I don’t think your mother would approve of me.’

‘I wasn’t looking for a new dad, anyway,’ Jane said.

‘Hmm,’ Largo mused. ‘Feisty.’

They came out of a shady lane with detached houses in it, and now they were in hilly countryside. Jane had never been down here before; she had no idea where the road led. The sun was pulsing feebly, a blister behind clouds like strips of yellowing bandage.

‘And you can keep your filthy paws off my staff, Largo,’ Ben said mildly. ‘Natalie’s in a relationship, and she’s bloody good at what she does.’

Largo turned to Ben. ‘How would you even know?’

‘What?’

Something fractured then, Largo bawling at Ben, raising himself up in the bucket seat. ‘Come on, what do you know about the hotel trade? I mean really? What have you done, you maniac? You could’ve found something in the independent sector, no problem, like every other bastard gets dumped by the Beeb. You could’ve gone to Kenny and Zoe Fitzroy. You could’ve come to me, for Christ’s sake! How naive is this? Find you can afford some Disneyesque mansion wi’ wee towers for the price of your Dockland penthouse, and you have to grab it like it’s now or never.’

Ben gripped the wheel. ‘I’ve remarried, in case you failed to notice. I have Amber to consider.’

‘Aye, and that—’